Winter chills our harvest-time haste, and squeal, with a whisle admitted the earth's eastern cape currently. It gave birth to the snow wings, the purity of beautiful snowflakes, frozen people's minds. I stand on the top of the snow, watching the eastern fields.
If like curtain, flying snow yarn in north prodded and haste road, kissed the earth's skin, moistens land dry corner of the lip, instantly disappears trace. Just came home how turned ran? They still shy?
The dry reed in the mercy of our harvest-time haste, lowered noble head, the sound of ShaShaSha to beg for mercy; in winter seems Every now and then, like the reed flocculent flying snowflakes, yangyang voluminous, pervaded the withered and yellow fields. Calm pond aroused layers to exhibition charge of ripple, it tan chest Lou bosom embrace new shyly to air visitors.
Just be well but embellish wheat seeding, the winter of green sand and haven't come yet and stretch stretch and no more have anything more to shout out several partners, by snow quietly trapped in the boundless wilderness, peremptory crystal in lifelike amber.
Just flying snowflakes and haven't come yet and moisten the skin, then the poplar sere be condensed into a raider stiff flail clothes, tightly posted on the trunk, the frozen it very hot heart, broke it for populus benefit dream.
A few grey alternate with of magpie, no longer chatter and surfacing from the branches of poplar wear out snow shade, drilling boundless wilderness, chasing the snow in the process, lay in the field of searching autumn dream.
In the wind and snow, wearing my raincoat, head wear strawhat of vegetable, are nervous and busy to toil, they are the move as a carrot cabbage, because that is the hope of one season they toil, and they will stay on New Year's cabbage turnip back often and children's clothes.
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